Bitter Sweet

Liz's mum died leaving her with a host of questions about the father she never knew she had. One year down the line she finally plucked up the courage to seek him out. This is the tale of an emotional encounter between two strangers and the tragedy which divides them forever.

Submitted:May 16, 2008
Reads: 142
Comments: 5
Likes: 3

As she stepped down from the National Express coach Liz's
feelings of apprehension reached a new peak. One more journey by
local bus and she would be at her destination after a trip of
three hundred miles from her home in the north east. It was a
fair distance to travel on nothing more than a whim, but the
feeling had been growing stronger since her mum died almost a
year ago. She had always assumed that her father was dead and her
mother Joan had done and said nothing to persuade her otherwise.
In the final weeks of her futile struggle against the cancer
which was consuming her however, Liz's mum had let slip one or
two things which had stirred her daughter's interest in their
family history. Going through a box of old photographs one day,
Liz came across one of her mother in her mid to late thirties at
the seaside and in the arms of a man of around forty years of
age. She turned it over and read out the writing 'Margate - July
1975'.

"What's this, mum?" she asked.

"Give it here, love" Joan replied, and smiled as she took in the
faded image. It was one of those calm, wistful expressions which
always comes with pleasant memories half forgotten.

"Mum?"

"Oh, sorry love I was somewhere else for a moment just then."

"Well, who is it?"

Joan coloured up, and for a terminally ill cancer sufferer the
change in her complexion made her look almost well. She looked
down again at the photograph and began humming a tune to herself.
Liz recognised it as 'Leaving on a Jet Plane' - a favourite of
her mother's down the years, the source of which she had always
refused to divulge but now that her time was coming she released
the memory.

"It's your dad. We met on holiday in Margate. He was there with
his brother and family and I'd gone with my mum and dad and your
aunty Pat. We had a wonderful time for a fortnight and I'm afraid
he swept me off my feet. The song was popular at the time and we
adopted it as ours."

She went on after some encouragement to elaborate the story. They
exchanged the usual addresses at the end of the two weeks, and
Joan half expected that to be an end to it. She got a pleasant
surprise shortly after returning home to North Shields when a
letter arrived bearing a Bristol postmark - it was from Tom, the
man in Margate, and he wanted to see her again. To cut a long
story short, they met up again and picked up where they had left
off in Kent. A whirlwind romance ended abruptly when he found out
that she had cheated on him whilst he had gone back to the south
west for a few days. It had been a stupid thing to do but there
had been no way of repairing the damage. He left on the morning
after she told him about it and she never saw him again. Nine
months later Liz was born and Joan was sure that she was Tom's
daughter even though, in those days, there was no way to prove it
conclusively. She was christened Elizabeth Jane after her
grandmother, but no attempt was made to inform Tom of the event.
Joan ended up marrying Paul Williams, the man she had the brief
relationship with, but they were never in love and their
association only lasted eighteen months.

Joan died a few weeks later leaving Liz as her only surviving
family member and sole beneficiary in her will. Apart from the
house, she had few possessions of any great value and her
savings, though sufficient for her own needs, amounted to little
more than modest sums. Liz moved into the two bedroom semi for a
while, but the memories of her mother became too strong and after
a quick sale she moved into a new city centre apartment purchased
with the proceeds. This kept her in touch with friends and work
colleagues but she was becoming aware of a growing sense of
curiosity about her father and she felt that an attempt should be
made to trace him and get in touch.

Joan had told her that his name was Tom Parsons, he was forty
when they met, and this would now make him sixty-four. She also
knew from her mother that he had been employed as a draughtsman
with a Bristol firm, so Liz decided to take some leave from work
and make the trip down to the West Country to see what she could
discover - in any case one of her college friends lived in the
city and it would give her an excuse to get in touch again. That
was a month ago, and as her bus pulled into Bristol city centre
she felt like a small child arriving at the seaside for the very
first time. She knew the name of the firm where Parsons worked
and clung to the slim hope that he was still there, albeit
nearing retirement. The lateness of the hour gave her time only
to find accommodation for the night together with somewhere to
eat. This being a Monday, tomorrow would see her at the doors of
Barton and Wallis, Architects at the start of business for the
day.

Enquiries at reception revealed that a Tom Parsons did, in fact,
work for the firm as Project Director, but Liz's excitement was
tempered by the fact that he was tied up in meetings all morning
and would not be free until 2.30pm. She was advised to leave her
name and an address, and call back in the afternoon. Her morning
trip around the city delayed the return to the offices, and by
the time she arrived at three o'clock he had left for an
appointment with a client and would not be back until the
following day. Disappointed, Liz returned to her hotel where she
showered and changed in preparation for dinner in the Brasserie
restaurant. When she later returned to reception for her room
key, it was to discover that a visitor had made enquiries after
her. A change of shift had meant that no-one knew she was still
in the hotel, and the man had departed half an hour earlier. He
was described as being in his sixties and said his name was
Parsons - she had been within yards of him and now he was gone
who knows where.

Frustrating as it was, there was nothing left but to return as
planned to the architects offices in the morning and hope that he
would have time to see her then. She spent a restless night
tossing and turning as sleep evaded her, and she rose early the
following day with her mind still buzzing in anticipation.
Breakfast was a non-starter and after a quickly consumed coffee
she set off again for Barton and Wallis. Arriving at 8am, she was
admitted into the building by a security guard who sat and
chatted with her until the receptionist arrived half an hour
later, but she couldn't for the life of her remember anything of
their conversation. The receptionist recognised her from the
previous day and said that Tom Parsons was due in at nine
o'clock. She checked his diary and confirmed that apart from
normal work commitments his morning appeared to be clear. Liz
breathed a sigh of relief and resumed her seat, picking up a
magazine which she knew she would be unable to read.

At around nine people began arriving and Liz looked anxiously
amongst them for a man matching the description given to her by
hotel staff the night before. She had begun to think she may have
missed him once more when a silver haired man in a dark blue suit
entered, signed in at reception, chatted pleasantly with the girl
behind the desk and headed for the staircase. He was called back
by the receptionist.

"Oh, Mr Parsons I'm sorry I nearly forgot, there's a lady to see
you over in the corner."

He turned to face Liz, smiled politely and offered his hand in
greeting. She took it nervously and introduced herself. They made
their way up to his office on the first floor where he asked for
tea and coffee to be served as he waved his arm in the direction
of two armchairs over by the window.

"Now then Miss Williams, what it is that I can do for you? It
seems that we were destined not to meet yesterday."

"I hardly know where to begin, it's a rather personal matter
really. My mother died some months ago and amongst her
possessions was a number of photographs - this is one of them."

She passed over to him the snap taken in Margate in July 1975 and
watched as he studied it. The smile on his face vanished
instantaneously as he turned it over to read the writing on the
reverse side. He pulled out his wallet and removed an old
photograph of his own.

"We had two printed you see, and kept one each. The hand writing
is mine, and the woman in the picture is Joan Taylor. You say she
was your mother, so your name is Williams because………………"

"Because the man mum married walked out leaving her to bring me
up alone. I wasn't two at the time and never knew him. I had no
idea until just before she died that you even existed. Mum told
me that you are my father."

Tom Parsons sat back in his chair and sipped at his coffee
absently whilst he thought. Joan had written to him after he left
her but he had never replied to any of her letters. Looking back
it was probably not the kindest thing to do, but how was he to
know that she was pregnant when there had been no mention of it?
Had he been aware of the facts things might have turned out
differently. Too late now, except for the fact that before him
sat an attractive young woman who claimed to be his daughter. He
and Joan certainly had a passionate relationship and no-one
thought too seriously about contraception in those days - you
were just unlucky if you got caught. There had been a number of
women in his life down the years, but he had never married and
the thought of having children had never crossed his mind. He
looked across at Liz and could see the resemblance to Joan in the
1975 photograph - his heart started to melt. Pulling himself
together he spoke again.

"Well Miss Williams, I really don't know what to say. This has
all come as a surprise to me as you will appreciate and whilst I
am sure that you believe the story your mother told you, I think
proof of our relationship is required before we go any further. I
can schedule blood tests with my doctor at short notice if you
wish. DNA profiles are the best way of resolving such matters"

Liz had no option but to agree. If nothing else it would ease the
increasingly fond feelings which she was experiencing for this
man. The appointment was made for early in the evening at a
private surgery across the city and the day seemed to drag
interminably until they met up again at five thirty that
afternoon. The procedure was quick and relatively painless and a
quiet word in the right place ensured that some urgency was
attached to the results. They would know by the end of the week
whether or not they were, in fact, father and daughter. There
seemed to be no point in taking up any more of Tom Parsons' time
than she already had for the moment, so Liz made her excuses and
headed off back to her hotel. She decided to call Sheila, the
friend from her college days at Warwick, and catch up on old
times. They met up for a meal at the hotel and spent the rest of
the evening reliving past glories and disasters. As the time wore
on and the wine flowed, Liz related the story of Tom Parsons to
her old friend and Sheila was intrigued by the whole matter. Liz
was glad of some supporting opinion in her 'quest' and by the
time Sheila left her spirits had brightened considerably. They
made arrangements to meet during the rest of the week until the
deadline for the DNA results arrived.

That day was surprisingly quick in coming, and when she got a
telephone call from Tom Parsons it caught her slightly off guard.
She was to meet him at his offices and they would travel to the
private surgery together. Arriving just after four o'clock they
were shown into a private consulting room immediately where Tom
was greeted by John Grant, his GP. After explaining the unusual
situation of Liz being present Grant agreed to discuss the case
with both of them present. The results proved conclusively that
they were, in fact, father and daughter and Liz could hardly
conceal her delight at no longer being alone. She threw herself
into Tom's arms and called him 'daddy' - a word she had never had
the opportunity of using before. He responded to her embrace
awkwardly at first, but as she looked up at him with tears of joy
in her eyes he opened up and clasped her firmly to him. As they
thanked John Grant and turned to leave, he called Tom back for a
moment to discuss another matter. Liz left the room to wait
outside.

"Tom, we've now got the full results from your earlier tests and
there's no easy way of telling you, but the outlook is not
promising."

Parsons was stunned. In one instance his world had been built up
and then instantly demolished. Grant explained that the condition
was fairly well advanced and would inevitably lead to a rapid
deterioration of his health - he was going to die. How was he now
going to explain all this to Liz?

One year later a young woman is pushing a wheelchair occupied by
an ancient man in his mid sixties along the seafront of a small
Devon resort. Liz and Tom had sold up and moved there to spend
whatever remained of his now severely curtailed life. They had
crammed an enormous amount into the brief time since their first
meeting and the bond between them was now complete. He was
resigned to his fate, and she was his rock as he slid slowly but
inexorably downhill towards his destiny. She had made him very
happy in the months since the meeting with John Grant with
stories about her mother and their twenty years together, and he
had developed a kind of serenity as he accepted his situation.
Liz parked the chair at the side of a bench close to the railings
near the sea wall and sat down. She looked at her father and
smiled, noticing that he had dropped off to sleep. Leaning
across, she stroked his thinning hair and planted a kiss on his
cheek. As she looked out across the sea to the horizon a tear
made its way slowly down her cheek.